


love and trust

by pennyone (LostChanceTo)



Series: who's gonna catch me when i fall [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Artful Descriptions of Parents, Bruce is paralyzed from the hips down, Carrie Kelley is Batgirl, Damian Wayne is Robin, Duke Thomas is Robin, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Harper Row is Bluebird, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Reverse Robin AU, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Terry McGinnis is Batman, Tim Drake is Catlad | Stray, dami's a sap ok, i will fight the world on that, oh yeah this is a stray au too?, we're not. . . gonna go into the abuse too much just know that it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostChanceTo/pseuds/pennyone
Summary: She closed the doors of room behind them. Damian knew her personal guard were closing ranks outside the door.“Father’s alive,” Damian said and Talia beamed. “He’s protecting a city, now.”“Gotham,” she answered immediately, “which would make him the Batman. I knew of him, but I didn’t think it would behim.”“The Batman?” Damian gasped. She laughed at his joy and swept him into a hug.“Yes, my soul, the Batman,” she said and kissed his forehead, “you will see him again. I swear it on my life. You will see your father again.”--Snapshots of Damian's life, from the League of Shadows to his return to his father's side to creating his own little space in Gotham.Reverse Robin Au
Relationships: Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne
Series: who's gonna catch me when i fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552462
Comments: 18
Kudos: 145





	1. Chapter 1

His hair was pitch black, a shaggy swoop over his forehead. He cut it himself once or twice every few months, the gleam of his knife bright against the general gloom of Nanda Parbat. His beard, scruffy and perpetually new, was cut the same way, once a week. He didn’t bother with a small knife either, he always used the same, long one, the most dangerous one, the one most likely to give him razor burn.

He was tall, broad. He wasn’t so thick yet, but anyone looking at him knew he would be built like a tank in a few years. Maybe earlier, if he kept training at the rate he currently was.

The bare bones of what was to be. Of what he could be.

There was an intensity to him. Something sharp in the sky blue of his eyes. Something dangerous about the way he held himself, coiled, tense like a snake ready to strike. 

It didn’t matter what time of day it was, or where he stood, or who surrounded him. He held himself taut like a bowstring, like he was waiting for an order to attack. Like he was waiting to get hurt. To be hurt and hurt in return. 

There was determination on his brow and pain in the twist of his lips, royalty in the set of his shoulders and subservience in his tone. Something impoverished and ethereal in his features, something exhausted and animated in his manner.

He was devastating, hard to read, harder to understand. His voice was as confusing as the rest of him - sometimes deep and harsh and scary, sometimes soft and high pitched and fluttering with emotions that felt as false as they did real, sometimes slow and considering and just this side of warm.

It was with that voice that he always spoke to Talia, and to Damian in turn.

Damian didn’t know if anyone else noticed, but the man softened himself for them. His hands, hands Damian had seen break bones and wring necks, his hands were ever so careful, wrapped around Damian, framing Talia’s face. His movements, usually only ever at a calculated pace or at the speed of a whip crack, were slower, more considerate. His face was close to blank, but it wasn’t the same blank he gifted to Damian’s grandfather.

Damian had never known how to describe it. But it was there in the man’s face, on his body, plain to see but still somehow unnoticeable. In the slight curve to his smiles, in the raise of his eyebrows, in the slope of his shoulders. It wasn’t stone cold rock, it was - it was -

The man was incomparable.

At least he was to Damian. He told so many stories, stories that were so much more interesting than any tutor would tell. Damian adored the man, adored sitting in his lap, adored hanging off his every word.

Truth was, Damian could understand why the man was so different inside and outside their rooms. Damian’s mother was like that too. In a different way, she too softened once inside the doors.

Outside the double doors she was an indomitable force of nature, she was the storm over the ocean, a hurricane flooding a city, her every motion sending the very Earth below her to its knees in shame and awe and glory. She was insurmountable, she was ice, cold enough to burn, to cut, to kill.

Damian liked to watch her, while he was memorizing dates and faces and ancient battles. Liked to watch her command her people, their people. Liked to see how they rushed to obey her. Liked to see how they loved her too, in their own ways. Damian loved her so much.

She was his mother and he adored her. He already knew, with all his three year old heart, that he would do anything for her. Would do anything to see her smile, do anything to hear her praise him.

Damian had also seen her hurt people. It scared him to see it, in a way he couldn’t contain, in a way he’d been told wasn’t fitting for him to feel. But he’d seen his mother hurt people, with blades, with water, with her words, her actions, her weapons, Damian had seen her bring men twice, trice, four times her size to their knees.

Inside the rooms she was something else. Softer, yes, but more calculated.

It was from her that he learned that even intimacy could be used as a weapon. He was never her target, she loved him too much, but he saw her. Saw the way she talked to her father when she wanted something, saw the way she wrapped herself over the arms of old men and women, the way she lowered her voice and twisted her lips and captivated an audience.

Maybe they couldn’t see her, but Damian could.

Damian could see the gears turning behind her heavy lidded eyes. He could see her stitch together her plans, could see the steady build of her words, until she could paint palaces with her tongue, until she could create a world of her own, until the man - the man that shared her room, the man who played airplane with Damian, the man who held him close and kissed his forehead - fell to his knees in front of her, the bend of his knees glacial, his hands braced on the outside of her thighs.

Damian watched from a cracked door as the man kissed his mother’s stomach, mouth drifting lower as promises fell from his mother’s lips.

They were beautiful together.

And Damian didn’t really mean it physically. He didn’t really mean it referring to when he touched her in ways Damian didn’t understand (referring to when Damian realized what he was watching and rushed away to the silence of his own room, guilty for seeing what he shouldn’t, the truth of why he was there stuck in the back of his throat where no one would ever hear it). He didn’t really mean it the way his grandfather meant it, the way that made the man frown and drop his eyes.

He meant it - how did he mean it?

He meant it in how the man would sag into the couch in the small living area outside their bedrooms, how he let the day’s stress slide off his skin, how he’d pull Damian into his lap and ask about his day. He meant it in how his mother would settle at the man’s side, or sprawl across the couch with her head on his large thigh, fully relaxed for the first time all week.

He meant it in how they seemed to gravitate together, how he reached for her when he woke screaming, how she rested her head against his chest when her hands shook and words faltered.

He meant it in how she risked her life, over and over and over again, to shield him from her father’s wrath, how he returned the favor again and again and again.

He meant it in how Damian already knew you couldn’t give without receiving, you couldn’t take without payment, but they never asked each other anything in return.

Trust, he realized, and love.

It wasn’t until after the man left that Damian found out who he was.

\--

“Your father,” Talia murmured, “is a good man.”

She sat on one of the chairs in their room, back straight, jaw set, immovable in her posture. Untouchable. Distant. Damian sat at her feet, his work spread around him, half finished and left for dead as he stared up at her.

“Too good for us,” she continued, staring at a painting on the wall. It was one she’d made herself, of herself and the man and Damian in his lap, all of them smiling. Truly relaxed, in a way none of them ever had the luxury to be. “Too good for your grandfather.”

“Grandfather is trying to save the world,” Damian told her. She pressed her lips together and sighed. Damian watched as she stood and walked away. She didn’t leave the room, like Damian expected her to. Instead she stopped at a cabinet, a locked one Damian never dared open.

“Your grandfather wants me to tell you a story,” Talia said and opened the cabinet. Damian gathered up his papers, clutched them to his chest as she pulled a leaf of paper from one of the shelves. “I will tell it to you, and then I will tell you my version. It is on you to decide what you wish to believe.”

Damian had never been offered a choice like that before. He was only three years old.

“This is the story you grandfather wants you to know,” she said, and started to read aloud from the paper.

Damian loved it when she read to him. She could read anything from fantasy novels to physics textbooks, and Damian would love it all the same. He loved her, loved when she chose to spend time with him, loved when she read to him. Loved her.

“I met that man a few months after your birth. It is my understanding that neither he nor your mother ever taught you his name, so I will avoid using it. It was a dark night, a lonely night far from home. He came to me and asked to be trained under me. He claimed to have rumors of me.

“In the lamplight, he looked familiar, but I could not place it. But there was a strength in him that I could understand, as well as a desperation. So I allowed him into Nanda Parbat and I allowed him to learn our ways.

“He showed remarkable progress very quickly. He was hungry for power. Hungry for a lot more, because the instant I allowed you and your mother near him, he grew attached. Anytime he wasn’t training, he was with you and your mother. It was almost a year later that I realized who he was.

“I have no sons. Just two daughters, one of which is estranged to me. That man grew to be my only hope. He handled you well and Talia loved him beyond anyone else I had ever seen her love. I thought for sure he would stay forever. I had no intention of allowing you to gain the mantle of the Demon’s Head. I only wanted you to grow up strong and hardy, like your mother.

“That man would have been my solution. He would have taken the mantle when the time came. He would have lead us into the New World and brought our nation and people prosperity. He would have protected us like we were his own. Under his firm rule, we would have lived happy and free and safe.

“But he left us. Betrayed us. Abandoned us. Abandoned you. And instead of growing up safe, to be a spoiled prince, strong and beautiful and loved, you must grow up to be a warrior. I am sorry to put the weight of the world back on your shoulders, Grandson, but it must be done because of that man.

Or should I say, because of your father.”

Talia lowered the paper to look at Damian.

It made sense, Damian supposed. His father, while he had been there, had proved over and over again that he was well suited to lead them. He  _ would _ have led them to prosperity. He would have protected them. And Damian would never have to learn to fight. It made sense. 

But at the same time, it didn’t.

Strong and hardy, but not a warrior. Civilians couldn’t be strong and hardy. Not by Grandfather’s definition. And he had never expressed any desire for Damian to be spoiled.

It was like many things his Grandfather said. It sounded true, but under closer inspection there were things Damian didn’t understand. Normally, Damian would just ignore those things. But his mother had said there was more to hear, so Damian returned his gaze to his mother.

“My story is different,” Talia said and sat in front of Damian. Damian clutched his papers tighter and leaned towards her. “And it is a little longer.”

“Ok,” Damian said and piled his papers into a little pile in between him and his mother. Talia smiled, just the faintest twist of her lips, posture and expression softening just a little. Damian dropped his hands into his lap and smiled up at her. “I’m ready.”

“I met a traumatized, angry young man a couple years ago. He had no direction, but a purpose and a truth so strong he almost glowed with it. The people of his city were wrong to label him an airhead and a fool - anyone with eyes could see the intelligence and bravery and strength in him. We met, we talked, we kissed and touched and he left me a gift.

“You, Damian.”

Damian flushed and wiggled a bit. He tried trapping the feeling in a little glass jar, to keep in his heart for a bad day.

“He didn’t know about you, and I took great pains to keep it that way. And yet, less than a year later, he came to the League. Just as I had seen it, my father had seen the truth in his eyes. And he was accepted into the League, and trained in our ways.

“However this man found you. You were alone, almost a year old, and were fussing. I had swaddled you and left you to sleep in your crib. There were many actions he could have taken, but instead of any of them, he chose to pick you up and try to calm you down.

“Oh, he wasn’t very good at it,” she said, laughing and waving a dismissive hand, “but he did his best. Lo and behold, you calmed when he held you. I was nearby, watching. And it occured to me.” Talia paused here to stare at Damian. He didn’t say anything, just waited, mouth open as he listened to the steady cadence of her words. “It occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, you would benefit from having your father in your life, even if you didn’t know it was him.

“I invited him into our lives. I invited him to help raise you, and he rose to the challenge. He was training, learning how to win wars, how to take down armies alone, experiencing true leadership for the first time in his life, and yet he still came back to our rooms everyday to - to love you. And to love me as well, but even then I could see how he adored you.

“That man was made to raise kids,” Talia said, laughing again, “I’ve never seen a man take to childrearing so easily. Like a duck to water, that one.” 

Damian beamed. He loved it when she laughed. But the expression was already slipping from her face, back a seriousness that Damian hated to see on her. He liked it better when she was happy. Happiness meant everything was ok, and that Damian didn’t have to worry about anything.

Trust, he thought, and love.

  
“Your grandfather pushed him farther and farther everyday.” Her voice had gone quiet, harsh and unhappy. Damian stopped smiling. “He came back exhausted, but always put on a happy face for you.”

Damian knew that. Knew the man had been faking his happiness. It was a different sort to his true happiness, and quietly Damian had thought it strange, although he hadn’t the courage to ask about it. What happened outside his mother’s rooms wasn’t any of his business. Especially in relation to that man.

But he had still wondered and worried at it. Watched the man talk less, close himself off, his already slow movements even slower with his exhaustion. His sighs were deeper and longer, struggling to heave the stress from off his chest.

Some days were worse than others. Damian had always made an effort to be good on those days, to be better than he usually was. On those days, Damian convinced the man to let Damian read to him, to let Damian hug him and kiss his cheeks instead of the other way around. It had cheered him up, Damian remembered, a real cheer and not the false one he donned outside their doors. It made him softer, made the stress leak from his frame.

“Father pushed him too hard,” Talia said, almost pensively, “pushed him to join the League full time. He refused.” Damian frowned.

Damian was also not technically a part of the League. He would become a part when he turned seven, as a trainee. At eighteen, Damian would join the League in earnest, and take his place as the Demon’s Head. It had all been laid out for him almost since the day of his birth. He knew that.

He couldn’t understand why the man had said no to Grandfather. Why he’d chosen to leave.

Talia must have seen the confusion on his face.

“You know death,” she murmured, and Damian nodded, “then you know it takes a certain type of strength to take a life.”

“I know,” Damian said, “and I know Grandfather tries to make it look easy.” Talia nodded.

“Your father doesn’t have that kind of strength to him,” she said, “and when he was told to end an assassin’s life, he refused. And that very same day, he gathered his essentials, and he left.”

“He’s not coming back,” Damian said. He’d already known it. He knew for a while. But Talia’s face still fell, like she hadn’t expected him to say it. Like she hadn’t wanted to hear it. Damian immediately felt bad, but he didn’t take it back. One of his oldest lessons - once the damage is done, it’s done.

“No,” she said, “he’s not.”

“Can you reread what grandfather said?” Damian asked, and she complied.

Grandfather’s story sounded so callous in comparison to his mother’s. So. . . Damian couldn’t explain it. It didn’t fit in the way Talia’s story did.

“What is your decision?”

“I believe you,” Damian said. She nodded and stood to put away the paper.

“Keep that to yourself,” Talia said, “and make sure your grandfather never finds out that I have told you the truth.” Damian frowned. Talia closed the cabinet and turned to him, that soft air to her from earlier long gone. Damian missed it. She looked dead serious now, in a way he had never seen aimed at him. “You need to learn to act, dear one. Your grandfather manipulates everyone, including me. I can’t protect you from him forever.”

“Ok,” Damian said, nodding, “I will be the best actor in the world.” Talia smiled a little. A thought occurred to Damian. “Will I ever see Father again?”

“No,” Talia said, “not for a little while, at least. Would you like to meet him again?” Damian was nodding before she even finished the question. “Very well. I will see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Momma,” Damian said and jumped up to give her a hug. She swept him up and into her arms, spinning him around and around as she hugged him tight to her chest.

\--

The doors to the training area opened. Damian paused in his kata and turned to face it, lips pressed together. His teacher rapped him against the knuckles, hard. Damian flinched, but didn’t otherwise react to it.

  
His mother stepped into the room.

Damian was tempted to drop the act. He’d been working on it for months, working to make himself as stoic and unreachable as he could. It was a reasonable reaction to your father abandoning you, he told himself, to just cut yourself off emotionally and become blank and cold.

After all, his father was the same blank and cold outside Damian’s mother’s rooms.

“Your grandfather would like to see you,” Talia said. Damian bit back a refusal and simply nodded. He didn’t want to see his grandfather. Talia didn’t want him to see his grandfather.

But when Ra’s al Ghul asked, you listened.

Damian bowed to his teacher and hurried to put away his practice sword. He’d only taken a few steps towards the changing rooms when his mother clicked her tongue.

“No time, little one,” she said, “follow me.” Damian change directions immediately and jogged to the door. She stepped aside to let him out and closed the door behind him. Damian wasn’t wearing shoes - there was no need to on the soft practice mats. But against the old wooden floor, he missed them.

“What does he want, Mother?” Damian asked, careful to pitch his voice low and emotionless. She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she said, “there is no reason for him to want you right now. You are supposed to be preparing.” It took all Damian’s strength not to wrap his arms around himself.

The hallways of their current base were long and dark. But not empty. Never empty. Damian and his mother were the only ones with the courage to walk directly under the overhead lights, the only ones who didn’t have to fear for their lives.

Damian knew that was only because of his grandfather’s protection. If Talia was not who she was, if Damian was not the sole heir to the League, they too would walk in the shadows.

They arrived at the throne room. The room with the Pit, the heart of the base. Damian reached for his mother’s hand.

“My baby,” Talia whispered, and squeezed his hand tight before dropping it. Damian held that itty bitty comfort close to his heart, wrapped it around his heart. He would use it as strength until this encounter was over.

They entered the room, his mother first, Damian a step behind and to her right.

The room was massive. Unlike the rest of the base, this room was a cave, carved out of the mountainside. The Pit sat in the center, glowing green, the water churning and splashing at its stone edges. The green was the only source of light in the room, at least the only one turned on. Damian knew there were floodlights in here somewhere, he’d seen them turned on before. Behind the Pit was the throne, high backed and ornate, his grandfather lounging on it.

Talia stopped on this side of the Pit, but Damian kept going. He stopped three feet from his grandfather, head craned back to look at him.

Ra’s al Ghul was old. Terrifyingly so. His wrinkles were deepset, his hair fading away, his dark skin sallow and unkempt. He didn’t hold himself to the same standard of beauty and cleanliness as Talia did, and it was obvious. Even from this distance, Damian could smell him, musk and elderberries and something metallic and gross. Damian hated it.

His eyes glowed in the light from the Pit. Damian had never seen him out of this room, out of the green light, and had no clue what color his eyes were. Damian assumed green, because that was the color of his mother’s eyes, and the color of Damian’s. In the Pit’s light, his grandfather’s eyes looked unnatural and strange. Wrong.

_ I met with Grandfather today, _ Damian thought to his father, to the image of his father’s kind smile and the memory of his father’s scent - clean, like soap, with the faint hint of perfume beneath. When he returned to Talia’s rooms, before he showered, he stank like sweat and hard work, but even then he had smelled ten times better than Ra’s al Ghul on a good day.  _ How was your day, Father? _

“Grandfather,” Damian said. He didn’t bow. His mother had told him again and again to bow to her father, but Damian had resolved never to do so. The Demon’s Head was his birthright. The Demon’s Head scared away his father. Ra’s al Ghul had none of Damian’s respect.

  
“Grandson,” his grandfather said. His voice sounded like gravel and broken glass. Damian ached for his father’s voice, low and sweet and smooth. His unnatural eyes turned to his daughter. “Talia, leave us.”

“Damian is my son,” Talia said, voice loud and fierce behind Damian, “I will not leave him alone here.”

“He is under my protection and will be safe here,” Ra’s al Ghul said, waving dismissively, long spindly fingers almost stroking the air, “leave.”

Damian turned to his mother. She looked furious. Damian smiled at her, made sure it was sad and soft looking. It was the first time he’d smiled in public since his father left. His mother froze when she saw it, hands balled into fists, shoulders tense. The smile alarmed her.

“It is alright, Mother,” Damian said, “I trust Grandfather to keep me safe.” She nodded.

Trust, Damian knew, and love.

She left.

“My heir,” Ra’s al Ghul said as Damian turned back to him, “my only grandson. My only son at all. I had hoped your father would be my heir but - but so it goes.”

“Why did you wish to speak to me, Grandfather?” Damian asked. He kept his voice quiet and respectful, but anyone watching knew that the respect in his voice was fake. He made sure of it. His head was raised, his shoulders straight, and he looked his grandfather in the eyes.

His grandfather eyed Damian, something calculating his eyes.

“Your father,” he said and Damian sucked in a breath. There was news? His mother hadn’t been able to find anything worth telling Damian for months, although she had been looking. Damian didn’t know if he was alive or dead, if he had a home or roamed the streets of a far off city, or if he even lived in a city now.

When he didn’t continue speaking, Damian pressed for answers. “What of him?”

“You should not be so hopeful at the mention of him,” Ra’s al Ghul said quietly, “he abandoned you and the League. He is why you have to suffer through lessons.”

“He is still my father,” Damian said, “and if - and if there’s a chance he’ll come back, I want to take it.” It was only half a lie. Ra’s al Ghul hummed.

“He has declared himself the protector of a city,” Ra’s al Ghul said. Damian’s eyes flew wide. It took all his self control not to react any more than that - 

His father was alive! His father was alive and lived in a city he loved, and he loved that city so much that he had decided to protect it. To give his life for that city and her inhabitants if she so demanded it. Damian understood why he turned down the League. His father loved a city and had sworn to protect it.

It must have been the purpose his mother had spoken about, so many months ago, the one he glowed with.

And then the realization hit.

“If he’s sworn himself to a city,” Damian said quietly.

“Then he’ll never return to the League of Shadows,” Grandfather said, “and he will never return for you.”

Damian couldn’t hide his devastation. He wrapped his arms around himself and turned his back on his grandfather, hunching over to hide his face. He would never see his father again.

It was one thing to assume he wasn’t coming back in the safety of his mother’s rooms, where he felt safe and untouchable, where his mother stood beside him to temper the blow.

“I fear,” Grandfather said, “that were we ever to cross paths again, it would be as enemies.”

It was another thing to be told by his Grandfather, by Ra’s al Ghul, that his father had left for good, to protect a city he loved more than he loved Damian.

“He might even strive to kill me and your mother.” Grandfather’s stench grew stronger. Several long, skinny fingers curled over Damian’s shoulder. He twisted away, trying to rub the tears from his eyes.

That was a lie. That was manipulation. Father didn’t kill. It was why he had left. But Damian wasn’t supposed to know that. So he continued to fight back his tears.

“Poor thing,” Grandfather said. Damian turned, pleading nonverbally in every way he knew how.

“Grandfather,” Damian said, “can I have a favor?”

“Name it,” Grandfather said. Damian reached forwards and latched onto Grandfather’s green thobe - he wasn’t wearing his ceremonial clothing today, which made Damian’s job so much easier. Damian prayed he looked lost, like a piteous child.

“Next time you see Father,” Damian said and hesitated. Grandfather nodded encouragingly. Damian really hated how Grandfather smelled, but he couldn’t react to it. Not yet. “Next time you see him, ask him to come back. Tell him I want - that I ask him to return. I will do anything you ask in return.”

A slow smile spread across Grandfather’s face.

“I will give you this favor for free, little one,” Grandfather said and leaned over to kiss Damian’s forehead. His lips were cracked and dry, the skin scraping against Damian’s forehead. “Take the rest of the day off from your lessons. You will have this day to recover. Tomorrow, you begin anew.”

Damian nodded. His Grandfather rose and returned to the throne. Damian bowed to him and hurried away.

  
_ See, Father?  _ Damian thought.  _ Grandfather is not so scary. Just gross. Tell me about your city? _

His mother stood just outside the door, radiating anger. It cooled the second she saw him. She caught his hand and practically ran from the throne room. Damian followed without protest. She was - she was scared, Damian thought. As scared as she knew how to be.

She closed the doors of room behind them. Damian knew her personal guard were closing ranks outside the door.

“Father’s alive,” Damian said and Talia beamed. “He’s protecting a city, now.”

“Gotham,” she answered immediately, “which would make him the Batman. I knew of him, but I didn’t think it would be  _ him _ .”

“The Batman?” Damian gasped. She laughed at his joy and swept him into a hug.

“Yes, my soul, the Batman,” she said and kissed his forehead, “you will see him again. I swear it on my life. You will see your father again.”

\--

Damian woke up alone. It wasn’t unusual, now that he had his own rooms. But he didn’t like sleeping here. He preferred sleeping in his mother’s rooms, with her personal guards outside the doors.

He slipped out of his bed and walked uncertainty to his closet. There was still time yet before he had to go to his lessons. He pulled out a clean thobe and slipped shoes on his feet and walked to the doors.

He grabbed the handle - and immediately released it. He scurred back to his closet, flushing in embarrassment. How did he forget to arm himself? It was a relatively new precaution, but an essential one. He couldn’t allow himself to forget again. He couldn’t allow himself to be caught with his metaphorical pants down.

His sword at his side, knives in sheaths on his arms, a long bladed knife on the other side. Knives in the soles of his shoes. Damian opened the door and stepped out in the hall.

First rule of living with assassins - just because the hall appeared to be empty didn’t mean it actually was. Damian walked down the center of the hall - that was thanks to privilege, and privilege alone. He walked in the light. If any assassin dared join him in the light, he could not effectively take them down. Ineffectively, yes. He could chop off a limb or something similar.

But if anyone meant to kill him tonight, they would be able to.

_ But it’s ok, Father, _ Damian thought,  _ no one would dare lay a hand on me. _

It was a short walk to his mother’s rooms. Her personal guards all lit up when they saw him - Damian had noticed all her guards adored him as much as she did. He couldn’t help but think it was intentional. That she picked her guards specifically because they loved him.

“Young master,” the guards murmured, bowing and smiling and reaching to brush their fingers against his cheeks. He didn’t smile back, but he bowed a little, just the quickest bob of his head. “Happy birthday, littlest one.”

Trust, Damian knew, and love. It was a mutual feeling between him and the guards.

“Thank you,” Damian responded, just to watch them beam. He had learned to keep his thank yous few and far between. His mother and her person guards were the only ones to get any from him. Even his Grandfather had never earned a thank you (and Damian would like to keep it that way).

His mother was already awake, moving in the slow way of someone who’s just awoken. She smiled when she saw him.

“My light,” she said and reached for him. Damian allowed her to pull him into her lap. “My sun and moon and stars.”

“Momma,” Damian murmured and sunk into her arms.

“You’ve come for a story,” she assumed and Damian nodded. She lay back down on her bed, rearranging them so Damian’s head lay on her chest, his ear pressed close enough to hear the steady beat of her heart. “You’re getting predictable.”

“Am not,” Damian said and tried to snuggle closer. She laughed and squeezed him a bit.

“It’s not a fun story,” Talia murmured, “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Your birthday works well enough for me.”

“I don’t mind a not so fun story,” Damian said, “so long as you’re telling it.”

“My little charmer,” Talia said with another laugh, “always so sweet for your mother.” Damian grinned and wiggled a bit. He tucked the feeling into the locked box at the center of his heart, the one labeled ‘For Rainy Days’.

“I nearly lost you,” Talia said after a minute, “sometime in my second trimester. I had meant to hide my pregnancy from my father until after you were born. How he found out, I still don’t know. But he demanded I get an abortion.” She hesitated and turned her head to look at Damian. “Even then, I loved you. I wouldn’t get one. I couldn’t.”

“Where would you have hidden me?” Damian asked. Talia smiled, a wistful little thing, the rawest look he had ever seen on her face. She usually wasn’t so emotionally open, not even with Damian.

“I had a home,” Talia murmured, “a small farm in America’s dust bowl. It was far from the closest town, far from even the closest neighbor. And the nature of small towns is that everyone knows everyone, so I would have been able to trust them with knowledge of the League. And that if the League came looking, they would call, and we would flee. That was my plan.”

Damian wondered what it would be like to live there. To grow up, only worrying about the farm - what did farmers even do? They worked their fields, he supposed, and took care of their animals. They sold their goods and bought goods in return.

What would that be like? To grow up without having ever met his father? Without having ever met his grandfather? To grow up feeding animals and running around under the sun? To have friends in his age group?

“But Grandfather found out,” Damian said. She nodded.

  
“He was sitting on the couch when I came home one day,” Talia said, “and I knew the gig was up.” 

“But I’m here,” Damian said, confused. She nodded and curled over so she was laying on top of him, curled around him like a shield, like she was still trying to protect him, even years later.

“You’re here, my heart,” she whispered, “you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Damian matched her volume and pressed as close to her as he could. She seemed exhausted, rubbed raw and oversensitive, like it hurt to even think about moving.

“My baby,” she murmured, and kissed his forehead, “he let me keep you.”

“In return for what?” Damian asked, but he didn’t want to know. Not really.

“The power to experiment on you before you were born,” Talia said, starting to shake, “he made me-” she shook her head and kissed his forehead again, “baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I allowed him to do that.”

“What did he change?” Damian asked.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed you grew up faster than most kids,” Talia said. Damian nodded. She didn’t mean in a matter of years. She meant his mental state. He knew he acted and spoke and thought like someone older than him.

“Is that it?”

“Yes,” Talia said, “it was all he could do. He’d found out too late to try physically aging you faster or - or a slew of options he had at his disposal. I’m sorry, Damian, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok, Momma,” Damian said and tried his best to get his arms around her. He squeezed her as tight as he could. “I’m ok. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Talia whispered, “you’re here.”

\--

It was really cold.

In Damian’s defense, he’d never been out on the mountain wearing this little clothing. And by this little clothing he meant anything less than the fluffiest, warmest jacket he owned. He wouldn’t freeze, he was pretty sure, but he was cold. He was really cold.

It was a long way to the top of the mountain.

“It’s ok, Father,” Damian said as he stared up at the top, so many thousands of meters above him. “I’ll survive this too.”

He continued to trudge upwards. He was exhausted. His tutors had all insisted on finishing their various tests and assessments the previous night, when Damian should have been resting for this particular test.

Was it a test? Damian had climbed mountains before, but usually he was far more prepared. But it would be nine weeks before he reached the summit. Nine weeks until his seventh birthday.

He didn’t want to be here, he thought as he climbed. He wanted to be with his mother, wanted to be able to hold her hand. He missed her, and it was only the first day. He would walk up alone, with his pack and his supplies on his back, and nothing more. No guide, because the Son of the Bat didn’t need anything so. . .

Damian sighed.

“I’ve survived worse, Father,” Damian insisted quietly, “I have! You don’t have to worry about me.”

Damian couldn’t remember how long he had been carrying out these private conversations with the fading image of his father. It had been years since Damian had seen him. Damian couldn’t remember what his voice sounded like, how he looked.

But he  _ could _ remember how his father had smelled - clean with faded perfume, the sort that Damian’s mother still sprayed in the air on hard nights. Soappy, from what Damian could remember. Like struggle and effort and determination.

Damian missed him. Damian missed him so desperately.

His father. The Batman.

“Of course, who do you think I am?” Damian said. “I’m your son. I won’t succumb so easily.”

Talia told him stories sometimes.

“I know that’s not what you meant,” Damian said, laughing, “I was trying to joke, Father.”

That when he was only a year old, when he was still learning to walk, he would make his way to the doors and wait every day for his father to return. And when the door opened, and his father finally stepped in, Damian would screech and raise his arms and kick up a fuss until his father picked him up.

“Yes, yes, I promise,” Damian said and grinned at the snow surrounding him. “Does it snow a lot in Gotham, Father? It’s very snowy on this mountain.”

When he was two years old, he and his father would roughhouse - or so they called it. Damian would struggle to pull his father down to the floor. His father would tease him and mess with him, but in the end would allow himself to be toppled. Damian would perch on his father’s chest and declare himself the winner. His father would laugh and roll over to pin Damian beneath him and their game would begin anew.

“Maybe I’ve overestimated myself this time, Father,” Damian said, “children shouldn’t be on mountains. Children shouldn’t be allowed to climb mountains by themselves. You wouldn’t want me here.”

Talia didn’t want him either. She had protested this particular test of Damian’s devotion. 

It hadn’t been a private protest, either, she’d gone up to her father while he spoke to several members of the League and challenged him. Damian loved her so much. She loved him so much too and he loved her all the more for it.

Trusted her, and loved her.

But in the end, Ra’s had said Damian needed to go up, so up he went.

“Mountain climbing is a standard entering the league type task,” Damian murmured, “and you also conquered this very mountain, Father. I will conquer it as well.”

Mount Everest might be the tallest mountain in the world, but it was childsplay in comparison to K2, in Pakistan. Mount Everest was a gentle upward slope. K2 was a deathtrap. It was why the League used it. 

If Damian died here, climbing K2. . .

“Mother says your hands are rough, Father,” Damian said, stumbling over a snow drift, “from all the work you do. She says you are a socialite in your home city, and so you slather your hands with lotion in an attempt to soften your skin.”

His mother didn’t talk about his father much anymore.

The years hadn’t been kind to Talia. She was still beautiful, still the most perfect woman Damian had ever met, but there were already stress lines etched into her skin. Her eyes seemed haunted sometimes, more often than when Damian was a baby. She wasn’t so outgoing.

Damian understood. He wasn’t very old himself, but he understood. The years were wearing on him too. His heart was heavy most days. Sometimes he caught himself panicking for no reason. Damian and his mother both had bad days.

“I miss you, Father,” Damian whispered, “come home. I miss you.”

\--

“The summit is right there, Father, it’s right there. I’m so close, Father. Three months. I’m so close. I’m so close. Are you proud of me, Father?”

\--

His grandfather was waiting at the summit, looking younger than Damian had ever seen him. He must have finally bathed in the Pit. He smiled when he saw Damian. Damian grinned at him, unable to hide his relief.

He was done. 

_ He was done. _

“Grandson,” Ra’s al Ghul said. As much as Damian didn’t trust him, he was a sight for sore eyes. He was the first human Damian had seen in months. The first voice he’d heard other than his own for too long.

Damian felt like crying. He felt like running up to hug his grandfather, bad smell and all. Damian’s emotions were ricocheting all over the place. He was done.

He’d climbed K2, all by himself. 

“Grandfather,” Damian rasped, straightening his back and raising his chin. “I have reached the summit.”

He’d done it.

“You have,” Ra’s said. There was a helicopter a couple meters down, on the other side of the mountain. The side Damian hadn’t clambered up. He hadn’t seen it, but then again he’d been too focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Damian let his head fall back, a laugh bubbling free from his lungs. This was it. He’d done it.

  
He could go home now. He could see his mother again! He’d missed her so bad, it had been almost crippling. He’d powered through it all and now he could see her again. He could see her guards again!

Strangely enough, Damian had missed them as well. He’d come to love them, albeit in a different way than he loved his mother. 

“And I have word of your father.”   
  


Damian almost tripped rushing over to his grandfather’s side, unable and unwilling to hide his emotions. Not right now. Not after all he’d been through. His father! There was news of his father!

“You saw him!” Damian gasped. 

His grandfather nodded. He didn’t seem elated at all, but that was ok. That was alright. Damian was the one acting out of character right now, but he didn’t have it in him to resist the siren song of hope.

“I did,” his grandfather said, “and in the end, I told him about his son.” Damian gasped and latched onto his grandfather’s arm. 

He was wearing actual winter clothes, Damian realized belatedly, not ceremonial garbs, not a thobe, he was wearing a long sleeve shirt and thick pants and a couple big jackets. He looked so warm.

“Grandfather,” Damian breathed. 

“I told him about you,” Grandfather said, “and I told him how much you missed him. And I passed along your message, how desperately you wanted him back. How you cried for him.” Damian nodded expectantly. Grandfather paused, probably for the drama of it.

  
“Oh, Grandfather, just tell me,” Damian pleaded, jumping up and down in the snow, “did he agree? Is he coming home?”

“He said,” Grandfather said, “and I quote,  _ I have no son _ .”

Damian froze.

His mouth moved, trying to form words, but no sound escaped him. He stared up at his grandfather.

“I don’t,” Damian whispered, “I don’t. . .” Tears welled up in Damian’s eyes. 

It was like he had pulled the mountain out from under Damian’s feet. It was like he had torn out Damian’s heart. It was like he had taken Damian’s throat in his teeth and torn it out. Damian was shaking. He was unsteady, unable to breathe right.

“He said he wouldn’t join us, even if it killed him,” Grandfather said. Damian let out a rough sob. Grandfather hummed softly and pulled Damian up and into his arms. “Poor thing. You spent this whole time talking to him, didn’t you? You do it when you’re stressed, I’ve noticed. He’s not going to answer, little one, he never will.” Damian hid his face in his grandfather’s neck, crying and shaking his head. “I’m sorry your father doesn’t want you, little one. I’m sorry.”

\--

When they got back home, Damian hid in his room.

\--

“Baby? It’s Momma. I haven’t seen you in months, please let me in.”

\--

“Talk to me, my soul.”

\--

“Damian? What’s going on? Why won’t you open the door? Are you hurt? Is there anything I can do for you?”

\--

“Baby, please, I’m worried. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

\--

“Please, Damian, open the door.”

\--

“My soul, please.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was nighttime when Damian arrived in Gotham. The stars were out. It was cold. Some of the old ladies on the bus had complained about Gotham weather: apparently it was always rainy and cold.

It couldn’t be any farther from the mountains and deserts Damian grew up in. He didn’t mind the change. He didn’t mind much these days.

He didn’t know his way around Gotham. But the Batman patrolled at night. If Damian continued to wander around, he would find Batman eventually. Or the Batman would find him. Either way.

He didn’t want to be here. The streets stank. The buildings were ugly and blocked the sky. Everything was in shades of gray and brown. The phrase ‘concrete jungle’ had never been more accurate.

  
Scantily clad ladies stood on corners or leaned against walls of dilapidated buildings. Damian saw two muggings. He didn’t dare try and deal with them himself. Sure, they might bring the Batman. But. . . nobody died, so it was fine.

He’d been walking for little over an hour when he saw the car. Was it really a car?

He headed over to it. It was matte black. Slick looking. There was some sort of rocket engine on the back end of it. Damian stared, mouth open. What kind of car was this? It was pretty, somehow. Damian reached out to touch the shaded window.

The top part, instead of the usual hood of a car, looked more like a science fiction car. It was obviously streamlined. Damian wondered about the engine - how powerful was it? Was it loud?

Damian wasn’t the best at cars, but even he could understand how this was a thing of beauty.

“You’d better not be leaving smudge marks on that.”

Damian whirled. It was -

Not his father.

Instead it was a young man. He wore a cowl and body armor. There was a dark red bat insignia on his chest. The heavy cape hanging from his shoulders brushed the floor with every movement. He was big, but not bulky. There were two pointed ears on the top of his cowl. His belt was practically bulging with supplies. Slow night?

“You lost, kid?” The young man said. Damian knew it was a young man. His voice was young. Damian still said nothing. The jovial smile dropped from the young man’s face and he squatted down in front of Damian. He held out his hand. “I’m Batman. You?”

Damain eyed his hand. He did not take it. “You are not the Bat.”

“I am now,” the young man said, “have been for a little over a year now. I was trained by the old man himself.” Damian frowned.

“Trained by him?” Damian said, genuinely confused. “And who are you to him?”

“His son,” the Batman said. Damian shook his head immediately.

“He has no son.” The words came out bitter. The Batman frowned and leaned forward.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “who are you again?”

“Damian al Ghul.” The Batman’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Damian tugged his backpack off his lap and dug around for the package his mother gave him. “My mother said to provide this if my identity was questioned.” The Batman took it from him.

Damian watched him open it. Inside was a trinket Damian had never seen before. The Bat stared at it for a minute. He took it out and admired it, but said nothing. Then he put it away and handed the package back to Damian. He smiled. The car’s hood thing slid up and back.

The interior also gave off the same science fiction slash futuristic impression. There were buttons and knobs all over the dash. Several screens seemed to hold radars and sonars of some sort. Damian had seen an episode of Star Trek: The Original Series once. The dash reminded him of the consoles in the episode.

“Well?” The Batman said. “You gonna hop in?”

Damian walked around to the passenger side and heaved himself up over the side of the car. The seats were comfortable and a little lumpy. There was definitely the impression of someone. Whoever sat here did so often. 

The Batman hopped into the driver’s seat and retracted the hood. Damian watched it close over them. The buttons and knobs and dials on the dash lit up red. This Batman definitely had an aesthetic.

The Batman reached for a button and pressed it. “Masks on, everyone, I’m bringing a guest to the cave.”

There was a series of confirmations - three male, two female.

“Who is it?” Said one of them male voices.

“Damian al Ghul,” the Batman said.

“He’s not a threat,” said another male voice, older. Slow. Familiar. Achingly so.

Damian straightened in his seat. That voice. It made his heart hurt. It made him hurt. The Batman glanced over at him.

“You know that voice?” He said, voice gentle. Damian frowned and turned his back on the young man. The Batman laughed. “It’s alright, Damian.” It really wasn’t, but Damian wasn’t going to say that.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Damian stared out the window. Gotham was ugly. Damian hated it. He wanted to go home. He didn’t care how dangerous it was. He wanted to go home.

Damian nearly jumped out of his skin when they traveled through a waterfall. He thought they were going to crash into a rock wall. But the waterfall had concealed an entrance to a tunnel system. Damian caught sight of a colony of bats.

The tunnel they drove through opened into a massive cavern. Floodlights lit the area. The center area was clear. The Batman drove the strange car right into it and stopped, less than a meter from the edge. Reckless.

Damian stepped out to see a dinosaur.

He blinked.

Rubbed his eyes.

The dinosaur was still there.

“Oh,” he said. 

“Yeah, got me too the first time,” the Batman said. Damian turned to him. An older man stood beside the Batman. He wore an impeccable suit. 

On the opposite side of the cave from the big dinosaur was an equally huge penny. And a large Joker card. On the far wall was a computer. It glowed annoyingly bright. Its speakers were big as well. 

On the near wall were a couple glass cases. One had a suit - obviously one of the Batman’s. But bigger and broader. Next to it was a young woman’s outfit, with an electric blue bat on the chest. No cape. It was missing its mask.

Two young woman stood in front of it. One wore the missing mask. Her smile was crooked. The other dressed in bright colors. A cape hung from her shoulders. Her red hair was bright against the dark of the cave. A young man leaned against the wall next to them. He wore a dark red leather jacket with an R insignia on it.

“Damian.”

The voice.

Damian turned slowly.

Pitch black hair. Clean shaven. Big. Broad. Built like the suit in the case. Intense blue eyes.

He held himself like a coiled snake, like a taut bowstring. 

Determination on his brow. Pain on his lips. Royalty in the set of his shoulders. Subservience in his tone. Impoverished and ethereal. Exhausted and animated.

Unreadable.

“Damian,” his father breathed.

Damian scrambled for words and came up with a dull, “you’re crippled.”

And he was. He sat in a wheelchair. It looked special made. Damian had no doubt it was. Superman’s cape laid over his motionless legs. Damian’s father flinched, but nodded.

“We roughhoused,” Damian whispered, “you held me in your lap.”

“You’d babble about your day and ask me about mine,” his father said.

Slow, considering, just this side of warm.

Damian took a step back. And another.

“Damian,” his father said.

Damian fled.

\--

It was the Batman who found him. He’d taken off his uniform.

Damian sat in the topmost section of the cave. There was a little hollow in one of the stalactites. It was reasonably dry for a cave in a stalactite. He sat curled up against the side of the cave. His backpack was next to him.

“Hey, little man,” the Batman said as he dropped into the hollow. The entrance was a little off the floor of the cave. You had to drop in to access it at all. The hollow was much smaller now that two people sat in it. “The old man said we could take the masks off. I’m Terrance McGinnis, but I go by Terry.”

He smiled. Damian barely even glanced at him. McGinnis sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. 

“You wanna talk about it?” McGinnis said quietly. Damian shook his head. “Alright. Do you mind if I sit here a while?” Damian shrugged.

For a while they sat in silence.

Eventually Damian worked up the courage to ask, “does he speak of me?”

“B?” McGinnis asked. Damian nodded. “Yeah.”

Damian snapped his head to the side. And even after all this time, after all he’d been through, treacherous hope curled in his heart.

“Yeah,” McGinnis said again with a little laugh. “You’re Talia’s boy, right? He talks about you a lot when he’s tired. He adores you.”

“He does?” Damian whispered. McGinnis nodded.

“Did you not see how he reacted to you? That’s the most emotion he’s shown since I became Batman,” McGinnis said, shaking his head.

Damian felt, for the first time in years, the urge to wiggle in place. He tamped it down. It was such a childish impulse. He thought he trained it out of himself.

“Look, I’m not good at this brother thing,” McGinnis said, “and I know we have to build a report before you can trust me, but believe me when I say this: the old man loves you. He loves you like you were his own kid. I can’t even remember how many times he’s told me he wished he’d taken you with him when he left.”

“He,” Damian whispered.

“Yeah, yeah,” McGinnis said, throwing an arm around his shoulders, “I know you’re his ex girlfriend’s son, but I’m guessing that makes us brothers of some sort.”

“McGinnis,” Damian said. McGinnis’ eyebrow jumped up. “McGinnis, _ I am his son _ .” McGinnis blinked, smile fading.

“Well,” McGinnis said, slowly, “that’s news to me. It’s gonna be news to him, too. He’d’ve told me if he knew you were his.” Damian blinked at him.

“You just,” he said and stopped. McGinnis waited with an expectant expression. Damian forced himself to finish the question. “You believe me?”

“Yeah,” McGinnis said. He grinned and stood. He held out his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go talk to the old man.” Damian stared at him. 

Trust, Damian thought inexplicably, and love.

He slowly took McGinnis’ hand. McGinnis helped him out of the cave and back onto the stalactite. They made their way down and back to the main area of the cave.

The rest of the people were talking quietly. The second McGinnis and Damian entered, they fell silent. His father’s face was drawn and tense. Damian raised his chin and marched to him.

“Damian,” his father said.

“It has come to my attention,” Damian said, hating how stiff he sounded. He wasn’t able to sound any different. The fact remained that he didn’t know anyone here. He didn’t know how to act with them. It was easier in the League. He knew where he stood with them. He knew how to ask. He already knew that kind of behavior wouldn’t fly here. But what choice did he have? “That you are not aware of some very important details about me. And that I was not aware of some very important details about you.”

“Makes sense,” the young man in the R jacket said. Damian’s gaze flickered to him. Then he returned his gaze and attention to his father.

“The first,” Damian said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking, “is that I am your son.” His father stilled. Then something in his posture relaxed.

  
“I’d wondered,” he said, “the second I saw you again, I started wondering.” Damian got the urge to wiggle again. He ruthlessly suppressed it. He was in public now. Not alone with his mother. Or McGinnis, who he’d decided he could trust. 

His father reached out for him. Damian stepped forward. His knees pressed right up against his father’s. His father cupped Damian’s face between his hands. They were calloused. Probably from guiding along his wheelchair. He ran his thumbs under Damian’s eyes, over the apples of his cheeks.

“You’ve grown,” he said and Damian nodded. He looked - he looked proud. The look on his face was familiar. Damian had seen it on his mother’s face.

It was love. His father loved him. His father hadn’t seen him since he was a baby and he still. 

He still loved Damian.

“You should also be aware that my home has been deemed unsafe,” Damian said quietly, “and therefore my mother has sent me here.” His father nodded, but didn’t remove his hands from Damian’s face. Damian glanced at the others, then over at McGinnis. He looked calm. Then back at his father. “I was not aware you had passed on your mantle.”

“What do you know about Batman?” His father said. Damian didn’t allow himself to shift in place.

“That you are the Bat,” Damian said, “which makes that mantle my birthright. That you work with a Robin. That you have sworn to protect your city.” That you chose your city over me, he doesn’t have the courage to say.

“I have never worked with Robin,” his father said, “Terry, however does. Duke, here,” he gestured to the man in the R jacket, “is Robin. Carrie,” the redheaded young lady, “is Batgirl.”

“I’m Bluebird,” the other young lady said, “but I’m retired. I’m a college student.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Damian,” Carrie said with a big smile. Duke just waved. He seemed tired. Damian wasn’t sure - was he supposed to wave back? It didn’t work like this in the League.

“Mother promised me a place at your side,” Damian decided to say as he turned back to his father. “She was under the impression I could,” Damian’s words caught in his throat and he glanced at McGinnis, “could be your Robin, if not Batman.” He raised his chin in an attempt to steady himself. “It is my birthright.” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he said something wrong.

“Duke’s Robin,” Bluebird said immediately.

“Dude,” Duke said, “it’s ok if he-”

“No,” Bluebird said, voice firm. “If you want to stop, you stop on your own terms. Not because someone’s trying to push you out.”

“He’s not trying to push me out,” Duke said. He turned to Damian, a thoughtful look on his face. Damian didn’t let himself squirm. “You wanna be Robin?”

Did Damian want to be Robin? To spend his life fighting for a cause he didn’t know if he believed in? To fight in the name of a man he was afraid to trust? To wear someone else’s symbol? To be called by someone else’s name?

It wasn’t so different from what Damian’s life would be with the League.

  
“Yes,” Damian said. 

“Then earn it,” Duke said, smiling.

Thank you, Damian wanted to say.

“Of course,” Damian said instead, a slight scoff to his voice, “I expected to do no less.”

“Good,” Duke said, “you can start by going to take a bath. You reek, man.” Damian blinked, startled, but then he nodded. Duke gestured over to the side, where a door was set into one of the cave walls. With a glance over at McGinnis (McGinnis was smiling comfortable and relaxed), Damian jogged off to the door, backpack in hand. 

Robin, huh?

\--

Gotham was cold. Of course, Damian already knew that. But it was cold nonetheless.

McGinnis was out somewhere, fighting crime. Thomas was with him. Damian didn’t know what Kelley was doing. He did know Bluebird was studying for a final. But Damian walked in the shadows, tonight. 

It was simple to sneak through Gotham. To hold still when one of his father’s chosen flew by. To slip around and past people who happened to stumble across him.

Damian had stolen one of Kelley’s capes. The darkest one, with the gold trim. She didn’t wear it often, he knew. So he’d taken it for his own. He didn’t know if she’d noticed. She was always nice, even to Damian, so he hoped she’d never noticed.

He didn’t want to hurt her. He liked her second best of his father’s chosen. First was McGinnis, of course.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, Damian thought as he clambered to the top of a tower. Tomorrow he was getting his official introduction to Gotham. Tomorrow his father would claim custody of Damian from his mother. Legally. And Damian would be thrown into the World of the Waynes. Or whatever Vale was talking about these days.

(And yes, Damian had already met Vicki Vale, reporter extraordinaire. She was the whole reason they were making this announcement. Whoever (Father) had thought it was safe for Damian to go out with McGinnis and Thomas was wrong.

She’d caught up to them and tried to tear them apart for answers and McGinnis, flustered, had put a foot in his mouth. And now Damian was going to get to be a real person in the eyes of Gotham. He was going to be his father’s son. And everyone would know it.)

The air shifted - Damian knew exactly who it was.

“Batman,” he said and turned. McGinnis slipped out from a shadow, grinning despite the cowl.

“Baby bat,” McGinnis said. Damian spluttered.

  
“I am no such thing,” he said, affronted. McGinnis laughed, head tipped back, something loose and free about him. Like simply being in Gotham was enough to please him. Like simply standing here, in the heart of his city, was enough to smooth away his darker thoughts.

  
Damian wanted that, he realized. Wanted to love his city so much, and to know it loved him back. To be able to stand in Gotham and to know that despite her horrors, despite the struggles she’d put him through, that she loved him.

“You are!” McGinnis said, the joy in his voice startlingly obvious. He was in an amazing mood. How did he manage to keep a lid on it for criminals? “You’re the old man’s son, you’re teeny tiny, so therefore: you must be a baby bat.”

“Call me by my name, or call me nothing at all,” Damian commanded, but the Batman’s good mood was contagious. He was fighting back a smile of his own.

“Nothing at all, huh?” McGinnis tilted his head this way and that, the movement so much more dramatic thanks to the cowl and cape. “Mmm, no. Think I’m just gonna stick with baby bat.”

“Don’t you dare!” Damian yelled and lunged for McGinnis. McGinnis only laughed and dodged, let Damian drop and spring back at him. They circled the roof several times in a row. Damian was suddenly glad for the ill fitting mask he’d glued to his face - they were making a great deal of noise. Anyone could come looking.

It didn’t seem like McGinnis cared, though. He danced away from Damian, laughing and taunting him, occasionally ducking in to exchange a few blows. He was gentle, like he was sparring. Damian followed his lead and pulled his own punches. It was -

It was fun.

Damian attacked and Terry dodged, but Damian couldn’t correct his course in time - he toppled off the side of the building. His eyes flew wide behind the whiteout lenses. He hadn’t -

A solid weight slammed into his side, and he was soaring. Damian stared out -

McGinnis had caught him, still snorting with laughter. He flew, Damian caught in his arms. Gotham passed by, the few people still on the streets gasping and pointing up at them. Damian felt small, suddenly, in the face of Gotham and her Batman. Her protector. Her knight.

Damian swallowed thickly. It was impressive.  _ He  _ was impressive.

Trust, Damian thought, heart in his throat, and love.

They stopped on the roof of a building. McGinnis set him down, positively beaming.

“You’re not supposed to be out tonight,” he said, “we’ve got important things to do tomorrow. But you might as well help me stop Catwoman. She’s got a helper now, I think he goes by Stray? Can’t hurt for you to try and keep him occupied. I think he’s around your age? Could be wrong, he’s tiny.”

“I’ll help,” Damian said. McGinnis grinned.

“Of course you will,” he said, easy confidence oozing from him. “Now come on, she’s in this building. Stay in the shadows.” McGinnis pulled open the roof access door and they slipped inside.

Searching the building was fun. Sneaking through the shadows, gesturing  _ clear _ to Terry, scrambling down the stairwells as silently as he could manage. It was fun.

So when Damian finally caught sight of Stray, he was a little disappointed to have that fun end. 

He was thin, even with the padding of his suit. Not that it was much a suit. It was a leather jacket and leather pants, both worn and soft looking. On his head was some sort of hat that looked like a beanie, but was leather and had small black and pink cat ears on it. He wore a pair a big, round, yellow goggles over his eyes. His black hair peeked out from his hat in small tufts. He was holding a clunky camera.

“Oh,” Stray said, “you’re not Robin.”

“You’re Stray,” Damian said. Stray nodded. They stared at each other. Stray slowly raised his camera and took a picture of Damian. Damian let it happen. He wasn’t really sure what to do in this situation.

“I think this is the part where we fight,” Stray said when he finished inspecting his picture on the small screen of his camera, “but let’s be real, you’re a lot bigger than me. How old are you?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Thirteen. You?” He didn’t see how the information could hurt anything.

“Twelve,” Stray said. He smiled. It was a nice smile. Damian didn’t know what to do with this information now that he had it.

There was an explosion beneath them.

“Maybe we should fight,” Stray said, “like. A little bit. To make it look like we were busy while the adults were fighting.” Damian raised an eyebrow at Stray.

“You would not be able to win a fight with me,” Damian said, “and Batman knows that.” Stray frowned. They both turned at the sound of footsteps behind them.

Someone stepped up next to Damian. They were wearing a purple hooded cloak. Their face was hidden behind a black mask, with holes cut out to reveal their eyes. Purple top, purple pants, black pirate boots and black gloves. On their left thigh was a white legband. A utility belt and some rope was looped around their waist.

“Well,” they said, “this is awkward.” Female voice. 

“Whose side are you on?” Damian asked her. And then, just so they were all on the same page, “I’m with Batman, Stray’s with Catwoman. He’s twelve.”

  
“Hey, so am I!” She said and held out a hand. Stray slowly slapped her hand with his. “But I think I’m with Batman on this.” She turned her hand to Damian. He slapped it with a little more confidence than Stray had.

His first high five. Huh.

“What’s your name?” Stray asked. He gestured at Damian. “He won’t give me his. He’s thirteen.”

“I’m Spoiler!” She said, her grin obvious in her voice, “as in, I’ll spoil all your plans!” 

“Spoiler alert,” Damian said, reminded of what Kelley had screamed at Bluebird when she’d accidentally given away the end of an episode of one of their shows.

“Exactly!” Spoiler put her hands on her hips, “so, shouldn’t we be fighting or something?”

“I outclass you both,” Damian said, “but if you want to spar, I can watch.” Both Spoiler and Stray turned to him with unimpressed expressions. Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless either of you have been trained by assassins from a young age?” Stray’s mouth dropped open, stunned.

“Will you give us pointers?” Spoiler asked, suddenly ten times more excited than she had been a minute before. Damian nodded. “Cool! I can’t believe I’m gonna get coached by an assassin! Stray? You in?”

“Catwoman said I shouldn’t try to fight anyone until I know how,” Stray said. He shrugged. “But I guess I can try. It’s not everyday you meet an assassin.” He smiled shyly and put aside his camera. He raised his little fists. Damian wondered if he should call out Stray on his posture, but Spoiler was already lunging.

She kicked Stray in the crotch.

Or, she tried to. He flipped backwards out of the way and into a squat. Spoiler had her hands up again. Stray jumped out of his squat. If his fist had connected, it would have been a good hit.

Spoiler managed to tug Stray to the ground and they rolled. Damian watched them fight, something in his chest sinking. They were so bad at fighting. So. Bad.

“Stop,” Damian called and they both froze. Damian sighed as another explosion wracked the building. It was going to be a long night.

\--

“Was that a nonlethal takedown?” Bluebird said. She sat on the railing that circled the sparring area. Damian glared at her.

“Of course,” he said, unable to hide his frustration. He’d been here a month. A solid month, and he still hadn’t earned Robin. He still wasn’t being taken seriously by any of the others.

“I dunno,” Thomas said, “didn’t look too nonlethal to me.” His voice was light, but that did nothing to stop the words from grating against Damian’s nerves.

“It  _ was  _ nonlethal!” Damian yelled. “I’ve been trained to fight nonlethally! I can do it! I’ve _ been  _ doing it!” Thomas opened his mouth to say something. Damian was already turning away. His skin burned with embarrassment at his outburst.

He stormed off to the washrooms. He was done.

It was better in the League. There, at least, no one doubted his abilities. Or his self control. Damian had been fighting since he was five, he knew how to. He knew how to hold back. He usually was, even within the League.

In Gotham, no one believed in him. Damian was done.

Done with Gotham, done with Robin, done with the Batman. McGinnis had been unreachable for days. The Joker was free from Arkham Asylum. McGinnis had been pulling double and triple shifts with Kelley ( _ Batgirl _ , Damian thought with the familiar rush of admiration). He didn’t have time for Damian’s problems, so Damian had avoided him.

He stripped and stepped into the spray of the showers. It pounded down, hot and intense. The League showers didn’t hold a candle to the Cave’s showers. He soaped up slowly. He didn’t even have the strength to wash his hair. Damian buried his face in his hands. A weakness he hadn’t indulged in since he was a child.

Damian had to struggle to hold back his tears. He missed the League. He missed his mother’s guards. He missed his grandfather. He missed being able to walk in the light, untouched, untouchable.

He missed his Momma.

He hated this. Hated training in the artificial light of the cave. Hated having to try for something it was impossible to earn. Hated having to prove himself again and again and again. Thomas would never accept him as Robin.

It had been a long month.

Damian waited for the tears to go away before he turned off the water. His skin was red from the heat. The misery didn’t go away. It clung to his heart.

He’d tried so hard to lock it away. His heart. He’d tried so hard to banish it from himself. It had hurt so bad to find out his father didn’t want him (it had hurt so bad to be lied to). He didn’t think anything could hurt worse.

  
But to come all the way to America, to Gotham. To switch languages and force his mannerisms and habits onto the slow path of change. To come all the way, and to find his father’s chosen family didn’t trust him, didn’t love him -

Damian was done. He was done.

He pulled on a thobe and pants, the ones he’d brought from home, slipped his feet into his sneakers, and dropped his workout clothes into the hamper. He stormed out of the bathrooms.

“Damian!” Thomas called, but Damian ignored him. He pounded up the stairs, ignoring Thomas’s continued calling. Damian didn’t want to hear him right now. Didn’t want to be in the same room as him. Damian’s heart hurt too much.

He darted into the Manor and ran up the stairs.

“Master Damian?” Pennyworth called. Worried. Damian knew that tone well, he used it on both McGinnis and Father often. Damian didn’t answer him.

He barged into his room and slammed the door behind him. He locked it too. His room was big and empty. Damian kinda liked it like this. The desk had a couple notebooks stacked on top of it. Pens and pencils lay all over and inside the drawers. It had been McGinnis’ table, but McGinnis said he didn’t need it. He’d given it to Damian.

They had the money - Damian hadn’t been sure why he hadn’t just been gifted a new table at first. But now. 

Now Damian was grateful for it. He settled at his chair and dragged his fingers across some of the deep scratches on the table. It had a history to it. Damian knew the story to some of the marks.

The broken corner was from a fight with Bluebird. The initials were McGinnis’ and his high school girlfriend’s. The signatures in the corner were from each of them - one from McGinnis, Thomas, Kelley, Bluebird, Pennyworth, and Father. There was a Bat insignia burned into a corner.

Damian traced the signatures, still struggling not to cry. He wanted so badly for them to accept him. It had been a month. Maybe they never would.

Damian pulled his hand back and dropped his head onto the table. The lowermost drawer was full of notes, Damian knew. He heard the paper rustling when he first peeked through the drawers. He hadn’t dared touch them. They were private, he was sure.

Now was as good a time as any, he supposed, might as well disappoint the whole family in one go. He dropped out of the chair and pulled open the drawer. On the very top was an unsealed envelope. He picked it up and turned it over.

_ Damian _ , it read, in sloppy but legible handwriting.

He reeled back. There was a knock on the door.

“Damian?” It was Thomas. Damian ignored him. He pulled out the letter and opened it.

_ Damian, my new little brother, _ it said, and Damian had to look away for a moment. McGinnis had written this.

  
“Look, Damian,” Thomas said, sounding tired, “let me in, ok? We need to talk.”

_ I know I’ve only known you for a couple days, but I have something important to say. We don’t know each other well, at least not yet, so I figured it’d be better to write it out. That way you can come back and read and reread and rerereread this whenever you need to (but also because being Batman means I’m not going to have enough time with you, especially before you turn nocturnal like the rest of us). _

“Damian?” Bluebird, now. Ashamed.

  
_ Look, I’m not going to stay this is gonna be easy, because it’s not. And I’m not gonna tell you you’re going to make it to the other side without troubles. I can’t even promise you Robin. _

The line hurt more than Damian expected. He winced and glanced at the door.

“C’mon, man, open up.” Thomas sounded - sounded stressed. Damian frowned. He returned his attention to the letter.

_ But I can promise you that we’re trying. All of us - me, Duke, Carrie, and Bluebird. Hell, even our old man’s going to be doing his best with you. So when we fuck up - and we  _ will  _ fuck up - all I can ask is you give us another chance. We’ve never had a little brother to train before. _

_ We all got here ourselves. Duke trained himself on the streets. Carrie threw herself off buildings until she learned to fly. Bluebird built herself an arsenal. I went to Juvie. _

_ When Duke said he wanted you to earn Robin, I knew immediately that it was going to feel impossible. There are some boots that are too big to fill. (Believe me, I know.) So I just wanted you to know, because I don’t know if anyone else will tell you, and because no one told me when I needed to hear it: _

_ I’m proud of you. And I believe in you.  _

_ No matter what you do. No matter what happens. I’m proud of you. I believe in you. _

_ You’re my little brother now. And that means that I will support you forever. _

_ Love, _

_ T _

Included in the letter was a picture. It was printed from a security camera, judging by the timestamp in the corner and the bad quality. It was from the day he’d arrived.

  
He and McGinnis were in the hollow, in the stalactite. Damian stared up at McGinnis, eyes wide and shining. McGinnis smiled back at him, his posture relaxed. Something tight in Damian’s heart eased. He put down the letter carefully. Below it, in the drawer, were notes - all from McGinnis, all with little quotes and lines and song recommendations and movie titles.

Damian had thought this drawer wasn’t for him. But McGinnis had. . . 

Damian carefully put the picture and letter back into the envelope. He put them away and closed the drawer. He took a deep, steadying breath. Crossed the room.

Trust, he reminded himself, and love.

He opened the door.

\--

Damian looked up. His father hesitated in the doorway, a box in his lap, his Superman cape exchanged for one of Alfred’s handmade blankets. “Damian.”

“Father,” Damian said. He pushed away from his table, ignoring the impulse to hide the notes he’d been pouring over. It wasn’t a secret, he was sure. And if it was, well. If it was, Damian didn’t have a plan.

“Can I come in?” He asked and if Damian thought hard enough he could remember his father walking in through the double doors of Talia’s rooms, unasked and unannounced, a comfortable smile on his face. And now he felt he had to ask.

“Of course,” Damian said. His father rolled into the room with a little smile. Damian kept himself in his seat. He didn’t really know what to do, was still a little uncomfortable about his father’s paralysis.

_ You’ll get used to it, _ he told himself sternly, _ and you will not make a big deal of it. _

Father stopped at the bed and transferred himself and his box onto it. He patted the space next to him and laid down. Damian hurried to his side. He laid down as well, his head on his father’s shoulder, pressed along side to side.

Damian was stiff, but his father was completely relaxed, that small smile still on his face as he watched Damian. He wondered what Father was thinking. What made him smile like that?

“I was thinking,” his father said, and in the silence of the room, of the Manor, his quiet voice was loud. “Maybe we should get you those glow in the dark stars. We could map out the constellations on your ceiling.”

“Why?” Damian asked quietly, not moving his eyes from his father. He shrugged.

“I’ve always kinda wanted a set,” he said, “but Alfred would never let me. I’m too old now, and so are the other kids. But you’re still thirteen, and if you asked for glow in the dark stars, nothing in heaven or on earth would be able to stop me from getting them for you.”

“Really?” Damian murmured. His father nodded.

“I’ve already missed too much of your life,” his father said, “I don’t want to be the reason the rest of your childhood turns out bad.” Damian hummed, a habit he’d picked up from his father. A thought occurred to him.

“You just want to live vicariously through me,” Damian accused, voice softer than he’d intended it to be. Father snorted and shook his head.

“Isn’t that what fatherhood is?” He said, his own voice light and soft. He squeezed Damian to his side. Damian relaxed against his father. “No, but I wanted to give you a gift. You’re becoming Robin soon.”

“Thomas says within the next week,” Damian said, “he said he’s almost finished crafting his new identity.” His father hummed. Damian sat up and frowned at his father. “Thomas says he’s moving out.”

“He’s eighteen,” his father said, “and I never formally adopted him.” Damian nodded slowly. “You’re going to miss him.” Damian nodded.

“I didn’t think I would,” he admitted quietly. He had only been here for a little over a month, after all. His father nodded with a little sigh.

“It’s going to be hard,” his father said, “but if getting my back broken taught me anything, it’s that we’ll make it through it.” Damian nodded and lay back down.

“I’m sorry about your back,” Damian said after a long while. His father nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, “you know how it happened?”

“Car accident.”

“That was the cover,” his father said, “Bane broke my back.” Damian glared at the bare ceiling. “Oh, relax. It was, what, four years ago now? I’ve grown used to it. Besides. I was protecting my city.” He shrugged, like the whole affair was no big deal. Damian didn’t understand how his father could be so - so blase about this. But if his father was ok with it, his father was ok with it. It wasn’t Damian’s place to demand justification or explanations. His father was ok. 

“I’ve decided I don’t like Bane,” Damian decided. His father snorted and shook his head. He sat up. Damian sat up as well. His father handed over the box.

  
Damian took it slowly and laid it out on his own lap. He glanced up at Father.

“If you don’t like it,” Father said, “that’s ok.” Damian nodded and pulled the lid off of it. Inside were clothes - a salwar kameez. Damian would have expected a thobe. He pulled it out of the box to hold it up in front of him. It was green, a shade darker than Damian’s eyes, with matching pants. The neckline and collar were embroidered, little gold branches and leaves and flowers decorating the space.

“Salwar kameez?” Damian asked his father. His father winced.

“I, uh, I couldn’t find any thobes in any of the stores I went to,” he said, “I would have ordered one, but uh.” He looked embarrassed and uncomfortable. Damian returned his attention to the clothes.

His father went to all the stores. He didn’t have Alfred go look, he didn’t send McGinnis or Thomas or anyone else, he himself went to several stores looking for this. And he’d found the one that was probably the closest match to Damian’s eye color. That was a lot of work for someone who didn’t usually leave his Manor. 

“I like them,” he said honestly. He looked back up at his father, smiling. “Thank you, Father.” His father broke into a smile of his own, the nerves washing off of his hunched form.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and he even sounded happy. Damian stood, holding the clothes to his chest.

“I’m going to go change,” Damian said, “wait here.” His father nodded. Damian rushed into his ensuite bathroom to change out of his pajamas and into the salwar kameez. The shirt was shorter than most of Damian’s thobes were; it ended at his knees instead of further down. And there were slits up the sides that, admittedly, made for less restricted movement.

Even so, it was strange to wear something so close to and yet distinctly not a thobe. Damian stared at his reflection in the mirror, a little uncertain about it. But this salwar kameez was a gift and Damian had already declared that he liked it.

Trust and love, he reminded himself.

Damian hung up his pajamas behind the bathroom door and stepped back into his bedroom. His father looked up and immediately beamed. He was wiggling, Damian realized, just a bit. Just the ittiest bittiest bit (as Bluebird would say). A small side to side movement that, if made bigger and more obvious, could almost be a dance. 

Damian had gotten it from  _ him _ .    
  


And if his father could wiggle when happy, so could Damian. 

Damian turned a circle for him, then sat back down at his father’s side. His father carefully stopped wiggling, but he was still smiling. 

“You look good,” his father said, warm and soft and it made Damian feel safe somehow. Damian smiled and carefully leaned his head on his father’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Father,” he said again.

\--

“You guys ready?” Thomas called from inside the changing booth they’d set up in the Cave.

“Ready!” Kelley called. 

They stood in a semi circle around the booth, waiting anxiously. Today was the day. Today was the day Thomas revealed his new identity. And as soon as he did, Damian would get to reveal his Robin uniform. And they would go out and, as Thomas had said earlier, paint the city red.

Damian wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but judging by the reaction it got, it meant having fun. And going out on the rooftops? Sparring with Batman? Teaching Stray and Spoiler how to fight? That was fun.

The booth’s curtain  _ wooshed _ back.

Thomas stepped out.

Instead of a domino mask or a regular cowl, Thomas wore a helmet that covered his whole head. Except for his mouth, which was grinning. Over his chest and shoulders was electric blue bat-shaped armor. An identifying mark. Under that he wore standard black under armor. Gloves, boots, utility belt. A pair of escrima sticks hung from it, one on either side. There were blue stripes running from his shoulders to his fingertips.

What was black and blue and brown all over? Duke Thomas, apparently.

“How do I look?” Thomas turned this way and that, posing for the five of them.

He looked - he looked  _ cool _ . Not scary like Batman, not dangerous like Robin. He looked  _ cool _ . Damian didn’t really know how else to phrase it. He looked like the glowy feeling Damian sometimes got in his chest. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Bluebird said, her mouth hanging open. McGinnis nodded in agreement, eyeing Thomas’ new costume closely.

“I think you look amazing,” Kelley said, “like. Awe inspiring.” Thomas’ toothy grin, if possible, grew even wider.

“What name did you choose, Master Duke?” Pennyworth asked, pretending he wasn’t wiping tears from his face. Father hadn’t even bothered. He looked like his chest was puffed up from pride despite the slow, steady fall of his tears.

“Nightwing,” Thomas said.

“Like the Kryptonian god,” Father said. His voice broke a little over the words. Thomas nodded.

“He’s the great rebuilder,” Thomas said, “the catalyst of change. Eternally reborn to start anew.”

Kelley and Bluebird made a matching, “oooooh,” sound. 

“You sound like you’re quoting Superman directly,” Damian said. Thomas walked over to ruffle Damian’s hair with an electric blue glove.

“That’s cuz I am,” he said, “now go get changed. I want to see you suited up.” Damian nodded eagerly and darted to the changing booth.

“Duke,” Damian heard his father say as he entered the booth, “I’m so proud of you.” Damian shut the door and carefully stopped listening. Some moments were private, he’d learned.

Technically, both Thomas and Pennyworth had already seen Damian’s uniform. Thomas, because he was the one who had to teach Damian how to fight in it. Pennyworth because he had to report how well it fit to Lucious Fox, at Wayne Enterprises.

Even so, Damian was excited.

No, he was  _ ecstatic _ .

What would Momma think? Damian wondered as he stripped. Hopefully, she’d be proud. It was why she’d sent him here in the first place - to protect him from his grandfather’s machinations, sure, but also so he could make a place in his father’s family. And Damian would say he had.

He’d became close with his older brother, with McGinnis, who had done nothing but love and support him. He’d made friends with Thomas, who was hard on Damian but still took him out for ice cream and movies. He’d earned Bluebird’s trust, as much as she was willing to give him, and that was already saying a lot. He’d gained Kelley’s approval and unending stream kind words and even kinder smiles.

He started with the under armor and the pants, both black. Then the red, short sleeved tunic, yellow belt, the green gloves and green shoes. The cape he’d stolen from Kelley.

He’d stolen a lot from Kelley to make this suit. Her cape. Her color scheme. Ok, so maybe he’d underestimated how much he adored her, but it didn’t mean anything (it totally did and she was going to tease him when she realized).

His domino mask was green. It looked a lot like Bluebird’s, except he glued his mask down. Her’s was wrapped around her head like a headband and connected to a little metal thing that was meant to protect her jaw. Damian had kind of wanted to try out a similar metal thing but he figured it would be more than a hindrance than a help.

Damian kind of didn’t want to step out from inside the booth, he thought as he slowly applied the adhesive to the mask. He was - nervous. Excited and ecstatic - 

But also nervous.

Damian took a couple of deep breaths and watched his green eyes disappear from view. He pressed the mask to his skin, pulling a face at the gross icky feeling from the glue. If he wasn’t careful, it would probably make him break out. They’d already tested the glue out on him, and he wasn’t allergic or anything. But Thomas had said they should never underestimate teenage hormones and Damian was inclined to believe him.

Damian stared at himself in the mirror. He looked - 

He grabbed the hair gel and squeezed a little into one hand, like McGinnis had taught him. He rubbed his hands to spread it out a little. He leaned over, so his hair hung straight down. He styled it quickly and nervously.

When he came back up he looked -

He looked like a child. A child in a mask with his hair standing up straight. 

Damian shuffled around a bit. Maybe this was a bad idea. He’d worn the suit a lot recently, but never all at once. Never with his hair done and the mask on. Damian shook his head.

Trust and love.

He stepped out of the changing booth, but without all of Thomas’s -  _ Nightwing’s  _ \- pizazz.

“Oooh,” Kelley gasped. She looked absolutely delighted, but what had Damian expected? She always went out of her way to make sure everyone around her knew they had someone in their corner. Even if Damian looked terrible, he was sure she’d react to it just the same. Damian knew she didn’t have the most supportive parents, and that was why, but he didn’t know much more than that.

“Wow, that’s not what I expected at all,” Bluebird said. Damian took a couple steps closer. She circled around him. “Is that Batgirl’s cape?”

“I liked it,” Damian said, maybe a little defensively.

“I thought you just wanted it for a comfort thing,” Kelley said, “not for,” she waved her hands at him, “ _ this _ !”

“I think this counts as a comfort thing,” Thomas said, arms crossed, smirking. “I bet Terry would count Batman as a comfort thing.”

“I do not,” McGinnis said, rolling his eyes. He redirected his attention to Damian. “You look awesome, little man. Can’t wait to see you in action!”

“Someone please record Stray and Spoiler’s reactions when they see him,” Bluebird said when she finished walking around him. “I’m dying to see their faces.” So was Damian, believe it or not.

Father rolled forwards. Damian gave him his full attention. He placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

“You’re going to be amazing out there,” he said softly. Damian finally smiled, some of the tension leaking from his shoulders.

“C’mon, squirt!” McGinnis called as he made his way to the Batmobile. “We have bad guys to fight!” Damian grinned.

“Good luck,” Father said and dropped his hand, “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Damian said and then turned to sprint to the Batmobile. “Don’t leave without me!”

“No promises!”

\--

It was a slow first night, but Damian was having the time of his life. McGinnis was a great partner and a great crimefighter and a great Batman. And Damian wasn’t saying that because McGinnis was his favorite of Father’s chosen. He really really meant it.

  
In the cold, adrenaline packed air of the night, it was easy to admit.

A lot of things were easy to admit, flying above the streets of Gotham. Like how much he wished his mother could see him. Like how much he hoped Thomas wouldn’t actually move to Bludhaven. Like how much he valued Bluebird and Kelley’s advice and attention.

Flying above Gotham made things like pride seem small and unimportant.

It was all Damian could do to stop himself from whooping in excitement when they flew. The catch and release of the grappling hooks were loud in his ears. He had a comm in his free ear and every now and then someone would say something. Usually it was Father directing someone to a crime scene or something that needed stopping.

“I think I can see Spoiler and Stray,” McGinnis - no, they were on patrol right now.  _ Batman _ said. “Wanna go scare the shit outta them?”

The two stood on a couple rooftops away, just talking. Stray was holding his camera, as per usual.

“Of course,” Damian said with a grin. He hurried off behind his two, well, his two friends. Damian had hung out with them several times by now. Sometimes it was just Spoiler, sometimes it was just Stray. Nights with the both of them were few and far apart. They were all busy people.

Batman melted out of the shadows of the night. Stray visibly jerked in surprise. Spoiler made a cut off screaming noise. It was all Damian could do not to start laughing at them. He was supposed to be surprising them!

“Bat-Batman,” Stray said, “you’re uh, you’re a little above our paygrade.”

“Is this cuz of your friend?” Spoiler said, arms on her hips. Damian could  _ see _ just how much strength it took for her to stand up to Gotham’s least popular cryptid. “Cuz he’s not out tonight.”

“We haven’t hurt Robin or anything, either,” Stray said, seemingly drawing on Spoiler’s confidence. He straightened his back and clutched his camera close to his chest. “So you have no reason to hurt us back.”

“Robin?” Spoiler said, turning to Stray in her confusion. Damian chose this as his cue.

“You called?” He hurled himself through the air and landed with a dramatic roll. Spoiler really did scream this time. Stray stayed quiet, his camera click click clicking away. Damian raised himself to his full height, which wasn’t much taller than either of them, hands on his hips, chest puffed out so they could see the R on his chest just that much better.

“No way. . .” Stray gasped. Spoiler had a hand over her heart, but it was clear she was getting over her fright very quickly.

“Oh my god! They made you Robin!” Spoiler yelled and ran at Damian for a hug. He accepted it, unable to stop himself from laughing.

“I  _ earned  _ Robin!” Damian said, proud. Spoiler backed up, taking in his outfit. Stray put down his camera and went in for a hug of his own. He and Damian were both awkward about it, but Spoiler’s reaction suggested a hug was necessary, so -

“Congrats,” Stray said with what sounded like pride in his voice.

“I’m so proud of you,” Spoiler said, “this is so awesome? I can’t believe I’m friends with Robin!”

“I can’t believe Robin was raised by assassins,” Stray said dryly.

“I can believe it,” Damian said and Stray beamed at him. Spoiler turned around -

“Oh, shit, where’d Batman go,” she said. Damian looked around. At some point, McGinnis had disappeared.

“Batman,” Damian said, activating his comms.

_ “Take the rest of the night off, _ ” McGinnis said, “ _ I’m sure I can handle the rest of patrol. Make sure you and your friends don’t get into too much trouble, ok?”  _

Trust, Damian thought, and love.

“Of course,” Damian said and turned to Stray and Spoiler - to his friends. “Want to paint the city red?” Stray and Spoiler exchanged a look.

“Hell yeah!” 

\--

McGinnis was on the roof. He wasn’t patrolling tonight. Damian had nothing to do, and McGinnis seemed distraught at dinner. So Damian forced his sore, stiff body through a window and up a drainage pipe and finally onto the roof of the Manor.

McGinnis lay motionless. His eyes were locked on the stars. Damian couldn’t identify the emotion on his face.

Damian lay next to him.

For a while, they lay in silence.

Then McGinnis snorted quietly and turned to him. “What’re you doing up here, squirt?”

Damian shoved away his little mountain of reasons for a more suitable response. “Why are you?”

“Asked you first,” McGinnis said. His lips twisted up into a tired smile.

Damian fumbled for a response - McGinnis had said this once before, to Row. 

(“I was Bluebird,” she told him one day, a month and a half into his stay in Gotham, “and honestly, I didn’t know if I wanted to be a vigilante forever. So I retired to go to school. And it’s a lot better - I get to learn about what I’m interested in and I get to have friends and have fun and I don’t have to worry about dying every night.”

“Why are you telling me this, Bluebird?” Damian asked. She grinned and ruffled his hair. Damian squaked and swatted at her hand as he ducked away.

“Because I wanted you to know that you don’t have to be Robin,” she said, voice achingly gentle, “and you don’t have to fight crime if you don’t want to. There are more options, other options. Other lives to lead.” She shrugged. “But also because I wanted to introduce myself for real. Hi, Damian Wayne. My name is Harper Row. It’s nice to meet you.”

Damian had stared. He sucker punched the swell of emotion threatening to rise in him. Revealing her civilian identity - Damian knew now how important civilian identities were. That she was revealing herself to him. . .

“Likewise,” Damian settled on. She grinned and pulled him into a hug. Damian let her.)

“Asked you second,” Damian finally answered. McGinnis laughed. 

He had a distinct laugh, Damian thought. It wasn’t the low rumbling of their shared father. It wasn’t cute or soft or fake like Damian’s mother’s occasionally was. It wasn’t Thomas’s full bodied laughter. It was more a cackle. More the haunting sound of nightmares. Damian enjoyed it.

“You’re a riot, D,” McGinnis said. He relaxed back against the roofing tiles. Damian waited. “I just miss my family, I guess.” Damian frowned.

“I don’t understand,” Damian said. He shoved down a sting of hurt.  _ I thought we were your family. _

“My mom and dad,” McGinnis said, “my little brother. I miss them.” He looked over at Damian with a small smile. “My dad’s dead. Not my birth dad, obviously, dunno where he is, but the one that raised me.”

“I’m sorry,” Damian said quietly. His hurt smoothed away into shame - how long had he been here, and he had never considered that McGinnis might have family outside Batman? McGinnis grinned and shook his head.

“It’s been years,” McGinnis said. He turned away again. “I still miss him. Miss my mom and brother too.”

“Who are they?” Damian said. 

He heard somewhere that talking helped. Helped with what, he hadn’t yet figured out. He hadn’t the courage to ask anyone. But if talking helped, it might make McGinnis less like this. Quiet. Reflective. McGinnis was best when he was, in Kelley’s words, in full chaos mode.

“Mary and Matthew McGinnis,” McGinnis said. A soft smile curled over his lips. “Mom’s the nicest person I know, and Matt’s the most annoying little brother to ever brother.” He broke into a laugh and glanced over at Damian. “Nah, but he’s a good kid. Smart one, too.”

“What happened to them?” Damian asked. McGinnis sighed.

“Moved to California,” McGinnis said. Damian frowned. “I got this personal assistant job with Bruce and was making a good deal of money. And then I started going out as Batman and she started to worry over the bruises and broken bones. So I told her she should save up some of the money I was making and use it to move out of Gotham. Too many murderous clowns, I told her.” He snorted. “She didn’t want to leave me but I told her I’d stay and make a pretty penny off of Bruce.”

“She just left?” Damian said. Outrage burned in his chest. Although his relationship with his own mother had deteriorated in his last few years in living with his Grandfather, she would never leave him. Damian knew that.

“I made her leave,” McGinnis said, “and I made her take Matt with her. He’s living a better life now. They moved to Orange County. There’s good schools, good neighborhoods, and most importantly, no supervillains. They’re safe.” McGinnis turned onto his side, so he could stare at Damian, something broken on his face.

Damian had never done this before. He didn’t really know what to do to counter that expression. But a month ago -

Damian got onto his knees and wobbled over to roll McGinnis back onto his back. McGinnis watched, bemused. Damian flopped over MiGinnis’s chest, stiff. Kelley had done this for Father, a month ago. Had helped him into bed and then curled up over his chest, her head under his chin. Father had sobbed, silent, arms tight around her. It had been a bad day for him.

So Damian did this for McGinnis.

“I miss my mother too,” Damian admitted quietly. Thomas had screamed about missing his parents not too long ago. Row had answered with her own fears and worries, and they’d shared their pain. “She was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Yeah?” McGinnis said quietly, smoothing his hand up and down Damian’s back.

“Yeah,” Damian said, “so I understand. I  _ get it _ .” McGinnis snorted at the weird inflection Damian put on the words. Truth was, Damian was still not used to speaking English. Still had to struggle to incorporate slang into his vernacular.

“I know you do,” McGinnis said, “of everyone, I think you understand best.” He wrapped his arms tight around Damian. “Dami.”

“Terrence,” Damian said. Terrance stilled. It was the first time Damian had called him by his given name and not by his surname. Damian just. . . 

Damian just felt that he should call him by his name. Hadn’t he more than earned it by now? Hadn’t he supported Damian? Hadn’t he been willing to share himself with Damian? Hadn’t he protected and fought beside Damian?

“Thanks for sticking around,” Terrance said. His voice took on a gentle, touched tone to it. “I know it’s hard. And scary.” His grip on Damian tightened.

“Trust,” Damian said after a while, “and love.” Terrance grinned. 

“Trust and Love.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! please consider adding a comment my good dudes


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